


Love Me Dead

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Humor, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: Being a mortician has its perks. He just didn't think one of those perks would be making out on an autopsy table with one Marie Mjolnir who came knocking at 4 in the morning.





	

It was the knocking that roused him. He had been taking a delightful nap on one of the autopsy tables when he heard it, that overzealous wake up call making him groan as he sat up like a vampire. Yawning, he glanced around, feeling the chill of the morgue bite into his skin.

Who the fuck…?

Slowly he swung his ridiculously long legs over the side of the table, finding his footing much like a freshly birthed giraffe. If someone was knocking, that meant that he had a customer. And customers meant money, something he heard made life relatively easier by comparison. With the grace of a wounded antelope, he walked into the waiting room of the funeral home, which was connected to the morgue he had previously been hibernating in, spotting a single woman banging on the door in an oversized black hat and sunglasses, despite the fact that it was 3 am in the morning. Bleary eyed, he walked over to the glass door, looking at the blonde intently. She was, at most, four feet and eight inches tall, approximately one hundred and three pounds, and likely could snap him like a twig if he so much as looked at her the wrong way.

He mouthed “What are you doing here?” but she only continued to bang harder on the door, as though not noticing him standing right in front of her. He faintly felt as though he should be smoking a cigarette at the very moment, and he smelled of formaldehyde and the dead, but, screw it, when a pretty woman came knocking on your door, you answer, damnit.

“Yes?” he asked, as he unlocked the door open, not heeding the fact that he could likely be murdered. Frankly, the irony made him happy.

The woman whipped her sunglasses off, revealing one golden eye and an eyepatch. He supposed she wasn’t interested in a monocle with sunglass lenses, though that would be infinitely more cool. “Did a man come through here? A little shorter than you? Stupid buzz cut hairdo? Perpetually closed eyes? Looks like he doesn’t know what a g-spot is?”

Stein looked at her blankly. “Living or dead?”

“Either,” she said, her expression nearly unreadable.

“No to both accounts. It is four am.”

“Damnit!” she cursed, leaning against the wall and shaking her head. “Damnit damnit damnit.”

“Why do you ask?” he inquired, interested as to who the fuck would be up at such a time in a funeral home .

“I thought he was dead!”

“I understand that most humans would take the confirmation that he isn’t as good news.”

“No, I’ve been waiting for him to kick that damn bucket for two years now!” she said, frowning slightly. “I thought the arsenic I put in his damn coffee would do it.”

Carefully, Stein looked the woman over more critically. “My name is Franken Stein,” he announced, seemingly randomly, but his heart had skipped a beat in his chest. And she didn’t even hesitate when she looked up at him, catching on real fast and blinking her impossibly long eyelashes at him, smiling. It would appear that she had come to accept the fact that whoever she was looking for was, unfortunately?, still among the living.

“Marie Mjolnir,” she said, cheerfully, tipping her lips up so that her entire face brightened as though sunshine was radiating out of her. “Say, do you know where a gal can find some decent coffee around here?”

“I would offer to make some, but we are currently in a morgue.”

“Fantastic. I’ll take mine with two sugars. I promise I won’t poison yours while you aren’t looking.”

Stein looked at her for a beat longer, blinking blankly before he nodded and stepped to the side.

“Is that a threat, or a promise?” he inquired, and as she passed him, she gave him a wink, though it could just be that she was merely blinking.

“You can choose,” she remarked casually, walking in and making a delighted comment at the skull on the table, striking up conversation about her favorite serial killer.

Marie Mjolnir, huh?

Fuck, he thought he was in love.

* * *

In all his fantasies, in all the imaginings he’d ever had, he never in a million years would have believed that he’d currently have his hands rucking up this woman’s dress, her nails digging into his upper arms as he kissed her stupid. In between kisses, Marie gasped out, her bare arm catching the frigid metal of the autopsy table.

“Holy fuck that’s freezing,” she managed to tell him, and he moved down her neck, leaving a trail of burning, fevered smooches that had her grasping his hair.

“Its-” a kiss, “an,” yet another, “autopsy table.” Slowly, he moved away, looking into her singular eye. “It’s usually meant for corpses.”

“You’ll be a corpse if you stop kissing me,” she informed him, guiding him back to her exposed neck where he could catalogue her increased pulse, his free hand coming to her hip as she arched up against him. “Oh, god, you’re going to _kill_ me. Keep going.”

Yes, yep. He was definitely in love.


End file.
